


Healing the Beautiful

by Socrates7727



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Caretaking, Cute, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gentleness, Healing Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Major trust issues, Post-War, Prostitute Draco, Prostitution, Rimming, Sort Of, Sweet, Trust, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 06:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21351787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Socrates7727/pseuds/Socrates7727
Summary: Harry had imagined meeting Draco after the war, but it had never been like this... He's definitely not a healer but maybe it's worth a shot?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 206





	1. Chapter 1

When Harry met Draco again, years after the war had ended, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Honestly, he’d never expected to run into the blond and, even when he dreamed it or let himself imagine scenarios they always featured a wife and kids. Somehow, the kids would be blonde, though the wife would have dark hair like Narcissa had had. There was something fucked up with the genetics of that family… 

Sometimes, when he imagined it, he saw Draco with one kid—a boy—and he doted on his son the way his father had done to him throughout their entire childhood. But, in his dreams, when Draco walked through the door of some random shop or crossed him in the street, it was different. No tall, blond, clone of a son that made them look like the Malfoys had ten years ago… When Harry dreamed of running into Draco, the man was always distant with his wife but he had three children darting around his legs—three girls, with hair so blonde it was almost white—and he  _ loved _ them. Draco had always been better with girls, in Harry’s opinion, unless it was Blaise or Theo. 

Still, no matter how he imagined it—wife, kids, even occupation—he’d never expected this. The guys at work had gotten him a prostitute for the night as a joke. It was harmless, right? They’d already paid, Harry could just open the door and politely dismiss the man, and everything would carry on the way it had been. Some kind of reverse bachelor’s party now that he was the only unmarried one in the group…

“Malfoy?” Nothing could have prepared him for this—whatever  _ this _ was. Draco stood in the threshold of his door in tight black jeans and a dark blue button up, but it was wrong. Those sharp, steely eyes were locked on the floor and so… submissive. His hair was short but it was cut more like a fuckboy would wear than like a Malfoy. God… It was clear that he couldn’t be in too bad of a situation because his clothes seemed alright and his body looked healthy enough—not bone thin, at least, or frail—but he was just so  _ not _ Draco that it hurt. 

“Don’t act so surprised, I know you requested me by name.” No…. No, no, no, no—shit! What had they done? This was supposed to be a harmless joke and he wasn’t even supposed to know about it... but now? Draco spat the words like they were venom in his mouth, and shouldered his way into the apartment.

“Clock’s ticking. I don’t imagine the Golden Boy has any shortage of cash lying around but it is  _ your  _ coin that you’re wasting.” Harry could barely blink. There was no way, right? This had to be part of the joke and he had no idea how they’d gotten Draco to go along with it but this had to be some kind of prank: extreme version. It had to be, didn’t it? 

“So, what’ll it be? Bedroom? Couch? Floor?” This wasn’t happening. That was the only thought that let him breathe and he had to shake his head because this was completely ridiculous. It couldn’t be real! But, before he could even close the door, let alone speak, Draco was already stripping off his button up.

“I don’t want to fuck you.” God! That was so  _ not _ the right thing to say! Draco didn’t even bat an eye, though, he just kicked off his shoes.

“Fine. Fuck me, hurt me, use me, I don’t care. Can we just get this over with?” Those words were like lumps of stone in his throat.  _ Fuck me, hurt me, use me, I don’t care. _ Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe and he knew that was stupid because he clearly could but… When had that sassy, intelligent, asshole from Hogwarts become this defeated, doll-like person? How did someone change that much? War was war, of course, but this wasn’t PTSD or depression—it was like Draco’s entire personality had been inverted, and Harry hated it. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Draco was down to just the jeans and a white tank top, now but he’d stopped stripping for the moment. Just for a second, the blond hesitated. He stood there, teetering on the edge, and Harry thought he might let slip some snarky little comment or show some hint of the old Draco but he snapped out of it just as quickly. Their eyes locked, and Draco moved to stand in front of him.

“You don’t want to hurt me…” It wasn’t a question, but Harry still shook his head. “Interesting… But I don’t believe you.” That was that, apparently, because Draco backed off temporarily to the duffel he’d brought with him and Harry almost choked. What the hell was even happening anymore? He felt like he’d been drugged or whisked off into some kind of alternative reality, but that wasn’t possible, was it?

“Here.” Draco was handing him a belt. The leather was soft and worn, bending in his hands like a whip, but Harry gagged. It looked like Uncle Vernon’s belt. He dropped it as if it had burned him, half throwing it across the room, but Draco merely glanced up at the clink of the buckle against the floor. 

“Squeamish, Potter? I have to say I didn’t take you for the type.” Harry couldn’t breathe. The room was definitely too small now and the walls seemed to be closing in on them more with every second that passed. He wanted it to be a joke—some twisted prank—but Draco was deadly serious. God, Draco just looked so… empty.

“Stop.” It was barely a whisper, but Draco evidently ignored it. “Please, this isn’t you.” That made him stop.  _ Finally _ , Harry couldn’t help thinking. Draco very slowly turned around but the tension in his shoulders said more than his expression could. He looked ready to duel. 

“You think you  _ know  _ me, Potter?” The playful sort of apathy that had been leaking out of Draco’s lips was now nothing but steel. Merlin, those eyes… They were the same kind of unreadable mystery that had tormented him for years, but now they were almost black. 

“I used to.” That only made the darkness flare, somehow.

“Yeah, you used to. But you don’t anymore, understand?” Harry could only nod. Draco looked so  _ angry _ and combined with the belt… No, he was not going to have a panic attack right now. Not in front of Draco, and not in this random hotel room. Slowly, he made himself take a deep breath. Those gorgeous grey eyes stopped, lifted from the floor, and zeroed in on him like sniper scopes. Shit.

“Are you scared of me, Potter?” Fuck. The room was spinning and he couldn’t breathe and Harry honestly just wanted to get out of there. But he had Draco’s full attention now. And then the blond was... laughing?

“Oh that’s rich! For seven bloody years I was terrified of you, of everything you stood for, but now  _ you’re _ scared of  _ me _ ? All it took to make you uncomfortable was me becoming a prostitute?” God, Harry hated the way Draco said that word. It wasn’t the word itself, really, that grated on his nerves like a hundred knives—it was the way Draco spat it out, like even the name disgusted him. 

“You really are scared of me…” That time, it was more thoughtful. Draco slowed down the words and rolled them around in his mouth like he was acquiring a taste for the first time. Did the blond  _ want _ him to be scared? A pale hand closed around the belt and Harry took an instinctive step back before he even knew what he was doing. Draco stopped. 

“You’re actually fucking scared, aren’t you?” Harry didn’t answer, but apparently the rapid rise and fall of his chest was answer enough. Draco dropped the belt. God, it looked like Draco was feeding off of him—drinking in his fear like it was some kind of life force. Just for a second, Harry thought that he’d dropped the belt just so he had both hands to punch with, but then Draco’s face contorted. He shook his head, frowned at his hands, and took his own step back.

“I’m sorry.” Harry didn’t react, but he watched the blond for any kind of cue or warning sign. Draco just shook his head and backed himself onto the edge of the bed, but didn’t look up from his hands. He looked absolutely disgusted with himself, but Harry had no idea why. 

“You okay?” Harry was not about to move any closer to Draco while there was still even a hint of danger, but he kept his voice just loud enough to be heard across the room. The blond laughed. 

“I was never okay, Potter.” Where the hell had that come from? It was completely nonsensical, but Harry was willing to take it because Draco seemed to be calming down and he wasn’t about to reignite that flame. Slowly, Harry took a single step closer. 

“Yeah, war does that to people.” Draco nodded, but it seemed like his mind was somewhere else. Harry couldn’t blame him, really, but he kept his eyes acutely focused on the blond’s face because he wanted to stop the next explosion before it happened. Or at least have time to run. 

He thought Draco might leave—he’d hoped it, anyway—but the blond saw his eyes flick towards the door and shook his head.

“I need the money, so don’t even think about it.” Harry wanted to say that whichever Auror had hired him would still pay even if nothing happened, but he was terrified of arguing with the blond. Not when he’d just looked so damn ready to kill.

It was supposed to end there. Harry was going to go to bed, and lock the door, and just pray that Draco would be gone by morning but, somehow, the plan got off track. He wasn’t planning on anything happening, and he didn’t want anything to happen. Draco didn’t seem to, either. 

But, the second Draco touched his bare skin, Harry was done for. He snapped, and it wasn’t until they were upstairs that something resonated. It was the sight of Draco, laid out on the bed with his pants around his ankles and his tank top on the floor, that made Harry stop. Draco was a prostitute. He was used to people taking control, used to people abusing his body and just manhandling him to get off. That wasn’t what Harry wanted this to be. 

He backed off and he was shaking his head but Draco caught his wrist before he could get very far. Harry froze. Draco’s face was flushed in a way it had never been before, not even during Quidditch, and his touch was warmer than Harry ever would have expected. It was electric against his skin. But those grey eyes settled on him and Harry couldn’t breathe. 

“I’m sorry.” Draco cocked his head to one side, but just looked at him. He didn’t ask, so Harry didn’t explain. Instead, the hand on his wrist loosened a bit and Harry was sure that he was going to let go and he was sure that he’d ruined this until Draco tugged him closer. He stumbled, but Draco just guided his hand back up to cup that pale cheek. 

Harry couldn’t breathe. He felt like anything—even just the sound of him exhaling—would shatter this moment. Draco pulled him, one hand on his waist and the other keeping his hand in place on his cheek, until Harry had no choice but to fall forward and straddle Draco’s lap. Their erections brushed, and Harry couldn’t help sucking in a sharp breath at the sensation. Draco’s eyes were locked on his, though, and he couldn’t even blink without risking losing that so he didn’t. 

The hand on his waist released, only to slide up and cup the back of his neck. Harry wasn’t sure what was happening because he’d never seen Draco this calm or this sure but he reasoned that this was his job so Draco had probably had to do this before with nervous clients. He took comfort in the knowledge that Draco was not going to kiss him—prostitutes did not kiss their clients. But the hand on the back of his neck tugged, and then there were lips against his own. 

Draco was gentle, and so unbelievably forgiving with his movements, but Harry wasn’t. He couldn’t be. That thing inside him that had snapped at the first touch just completely shattered and, before he even realized what he was doing, he was practically devouring Draco’s mouth. Except, the blond was reciprocating..? 

Harry was lightheaded, even though he was breathing fine, and he couldn’t help flashing back to every other kiss he’d had—not that there were that many to choose from. One, awkward kiss with Cho. A few chaste kisses with Ginny and one horrific attempt at using tongue. They were nothing like this, though. Kissing Draco was like drinking in the strongest drug he’d ever tasted and  _ God _ Draco made him brave. 

He slid his tongue into the blond’s mouth and hesitated when he realized he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with it. Draco jumped on the chance, though, and curled his own tongue around Harry’s before either could pull back. Harry moaned when a hand tugged at his hair. He moved his own fingers to tangle in the blond strands that were  _ illegally _ soft but he didn’t get a chance to make Draco moan. The blond was reaching and undoing his pants. Harry covered his hand with his own and stilled it, but it wasn’t long before Draco pulled away and gave him a strange look. 

“No sex.” For a moment, Draco’s eyes flickered with something negative but it disappeared and he nodded. He grabbed at Harry’s hips, and Harry could feel the way he was shifting his weight, preparing to flip them, but he wasn’t about to let that happen. Just before Draco pulled, Harry pushed. 

Their combined force was much more than Harry had been expecting, but they ended with Draco flat on his back and Harry straddling his hips so he wasn’t complaining. Draco stared at him, but he saw the fear there. Slowly, he kissed the blond and then moved his lips to his throat, then his collarbone. Draco squirmed beneath him. 

“No sex,” Harry repeated. “But please let me do this.” He waited for Draco to answer, which seemed to shock the blond even more, but when he finally got a nod he flew into action. He let his hands roam as he lapped at Draco’s pulse point and he desperately tried to memorize every inch of skin that he could, knowing he would never be allowed to do this again. He briefly considered binding Draco’s arms out of the way so the blond couldn’t interfere or try to change their power dynamic, but he had no doubt that Draco was sick of being helpless. Instead, he decided to trust. 

Merlin, Draco did not disappoint—he didn’t push Harry away or try to flip them at all. His hands tangled in Harry’s hair and skimmed over his skin like Draco was starving for his touch. Harry didn’t want to have sex—not like this, and not when he couldn’t be sure that Draco wasn’t doing it out of obligation—but that didn’t mean he could ignore the bulge in the blond’s boxers. All he wanted, honestly, was to kiss and to memorize Draco as long as he was allowed to. 

He gave an experimental roll of his hips, though, and almost collapsed at the full body shudder that ran through them both. Draco groaned and tried to repeat the motion, but Harry didn’t let him. Instead, he flipped the blond and straddled his ass, grinding against it as he began to kiss and memorize his back. Draco was gorgeous… Harry pulled back to admire, but stopped when he saw the familiar shimmer of a glamour. Why hadn’t he seen that before? He dipped his lips low beside Draco’s ear and kept his touch light, unsure what kind of injury the glamour could be hiding. 

“Drop the glamour.” Draco just moaned and pretended not to have heard him, so Harry stopped moving completely. He settled himself over the blond’s body and snaked his arms under Draco’s so he could hug the body beneath him. Gently, he let his cheek rest against Draco’s shoulder. 

“Please drop it.” Draco turned his face away and shook his head, attempting to rut up against Harry’s erection, but it didn’t work. Harry had seen the twist in his expression. Slowly, as cautiously as he could, Harry reached and turned the blond’s head to face him, though those gorgeous grey eyes were squeezed shut. He kissed Draco’s forehead, then his nose, then each cheek, and finally his lips. Immediately, Draco tried to deepen it and he almost succeeded but Harry pulled back at the last second. He let their foreheads press together and closed his eyes. 

“Please,” he whispered. “Please just let me see you.” Maybe it was a mistake, or maybe Harry had pushed too hard, but he felt the coolness of the disillusionment spell evaporate. He didn’t look instantly, but instead pressed his lips to Draco’s forehead.

“Thank you, Draco.” Draco shivered, but ultimately stayed silent so Harry pulled back and let his eyes take in the body below him. It could have been worse. He tried to repeat that thought to himself as he took in the bruises that disappeared beneath Draco’s waistband and the scratches that covered his back. It could have been worse, even if Draco looked like just breathing caused him pain. Harry didn’t want to know what his front looked like, yet, and he just knew there would be bruises all over the blond’s ribs and ass. He wanted to throw up. He’d been expecting worse, honestly, but his gut still churned at the sight. 

Harry honestly wasn’t sure what made him do it. One second he was assessing the damage, and the next he was kissing the closest grouping of scratches. Draco hissed, but Harry couldn’t stop himself. The sharp, angry red lines were grouped together in patches all over his skin and Harry tried not to count them but he couldn’t ignore the way they were spaced. Sets of five, all equal distance apart. Fingernails. 

Harry wasn’t a healer, but he knew a few spells that he’d picked up in the aftermath of the war. He’d been in St. Mungo’s for weeks following the final battle and he’d gotten bored enough that the medi-witches had begun teaching him basic spells. They weren’t strong and they weren’t going to bring someone back from the brink of death, but he could heal minor injuries. He’d gotten rather good at those specific spells, too, and he’d been able to do them nonverbally on himself sometimes—though he’d never tried them wandless. There had never been a need to, honestly, and he’d never really wanted to try. 

Now, though, he wanted to. Wandless magic wasn’t completely new to him but it usually only happened by accident, or out of sheer desperation when he couldn’t get to his wand. The way Draco was tensing and hissing beneath him was motivating, though. He pressed his lips as hard as he dared to one of the particularly angry looking scratches and focused his mind entirely on his intention. Eyes closed, he couldn’t tell if it was working but he vaguely felt Draco shudder under his touch. He took a deep breath, feeling the spell and saying the word in his mind. He kissed again, and Draco let out a sigh. 

In reality, Harry hadn’t really thought it would work. He was a powerful wizard and he could do things that other people couldn’t but that didn’t mean he didn’t have to practice them. His ability to duel was not a gift, just like his ability to fly. Things rarely ever worked on the first try, and he knew that, but a part of him held onto the hope that motivation alone would be enough. When he pulled back and opened his eyes, though, he still let out a sigh of relief. In both places that he’d kissed, there was a very distinct lip-shaped patch of healed skin. 

Harry was ecstatic. Draco had gone almost completely limp beneath him and he could feel the trust radiating off of the blond. It was addictive, to say the least. Now that he knew he could do it, Harry pressed his lips much more gently to another patch of skin and felt the warmth rush out of him and into his patient. He relished the way it made Draco shudder and sigh. Again, and again, he kissed every inch of Draco’s skin that he could reach and he focused all of his energy on healing. It felt good. The wounds were shallow and already in the process of healing, which made it easier, but he still felt a sense of pride when he pulled back to see not a single scratch on that pale skin. 

“How are you—” Draco’s voice cut off, though, the second Harry pressed his lips to one of the bruises. They were much lower down, nearly hidden under his waistband, and Harry wouldn’t have dared to touch him there but they were so dark… They had to hurt like hell. 

“Can I?” He hooked a finger in one of Draco’s belt loops, but waited for confirmation. Draco hesitated for a long moment. Ultimately, he sighed and nodded before burying his face in the pillow so Harry couldn’t see his expression. Harry tested the limits slowly. He removed Draco’s pants, but left his boxers and focused his attention on the bruises he could easily reach. 

Starting at Draco’s ankles, Harry worked his way up each leg, healing every injury he could find no matter how small. He didn’t realize Draco was panting or flushed until he sat back up, but the blond was. Hesitantly, he let his fingers brush over the material of Draco’s boxers. It was a request, but it was also a test to see how sensitive the bruises there were before he started pressing his mouth to them. Draco flinched immediately, but stayed still. 

“Can I?” Again, he received a nod, though it was much faster this time. He hooked his fingers into the band and pulled, but nothing could have prepared him for what the material had been covering. Draco’s ass was a mess of color. The deep, deathly purple faded and shifted in the weirdest places, resulting in something resembling a solar system, but that thought didn’t make it any less disturbing. Who the hell had done this to him? And why had Draco let them?

Harry didn’t ask. He knew that talking was the last thing Draco wanted to do right now so he just pulled the boxers off the rest of the way and lowered his mouth to one of the lightest bruises. Looking at it now, he wasn’t sure he could completely heal this kind of damage. In the name of everything holy, though, he was going to try. 

The first kiss made Draco flinch so violently that he nearly gave him a bloody nose. Harry smoothed over the skin as gently as possible and tried to get him to relax, but it still took quite a while. When Draco was calm-ish, he tried again, and focused every ounce of his magic on healing. At first, he didn’t think it worked. Draco didn’t react, and Harry was starting to doubt his own abilities until he pulled back and saw that familiar lip-print patch of healed flesh. He glanced up at Draco’s face, hoping to see something like relief, but the blond had buried his expression back into the pillow. His shoulders were shaking, though, and Harry realized with a jolt that he was crying. That thought burned like acid in his chest. 

He couldn’t help himself. Maybe it was because Draco was crying or maybe it was because he already missed the taste of the blond’s skin, but he returned to the bruised flesh on a mission. No healer’s oath, no sexual intention, just a mission. His lips chose Draco’s left hip to start with, and he kissed over and over again—even over healed spots—until the shaking in Draco’s shoulders subsided. He moved higher, working down from the blond’s lower back until what could reasonably be called his ass. Draco was shuddering again, but it didn’t seem to be from pain. 

The blond’s right hip was considerably worse, but Harry was persistent. He kissed and ran his tongue along the bruises as if that might concentrate the spell on that area. Beneath his touch, the bruises changed colors and faded. After what could have been mere seconds or could have been days, the bruises began to disappear completely and Harry attacked them with a renewed vigor. How had Draco managed to act like these were nothing beneath the glamour? 

“Harry…” Draco’s voice was quiet and breathy. At first, Harry thought it was a plea to stop and he hesitated, but then he saw the flush all over the blond’s back. Was Draco… turned on by this? He ran his tongue experimentally over one of the deeper bruises on Draco’s thigh, and watched the body beneath him squirm. Draco was panting again. 

Harry couldn’t believe it, but he also was definitely not complaining. If the healing spell felt good, then like hell was he going to stop. He moved lower, to where he’d stopped with Draco’s legs, and began working his way up one cheek to what could rightfully be considered Draco’s ass. He was kissing Draco’s ass. In some far away corner of his mind, he knew that this would come back to bite him but he didn’t care. The way that Draco was wiggling and breathing heavily beneath him was too good to stop. 

“Harry…” That time, it sounded much more like a plea to keep going than to stop. He complied, and let his mouth roam all over the beaten flesh as if his touch alone would heal it. It wouldn’t, but the spell worked either way. So, he kissed and he lapped at the bruises and the marks until they were all but gone and Draco was a mess on the bed beneath him. The blond was covered in a thin sheen of sweat that tasted like salt and he was gripping the sheet in two tight fists. Harry had never considered what Draco Malfoy would look like when he lost control, but this was positively delicious. 

It wasn’t until he took that last, final brave step, though, that he saw what he was really doing to the blond. Draco was a prostitute and Harry wasn’t stupid enough to think that all of his clients were gentle, judging by the marks some of them left, so he let his tongue start at his waist and work its way lower. Rather than choose a path onto one of the cheeks, though, Harry ran his tongue between them. It was quick, but it was enough for him to taste blood and to feel the tear someone had ripped into the flesh. It was also enough for him to watch Draco break. The blond arched and ground his hips into the mattress, hiding his face but very clearly panting. Harry knew that the first touch had to have hurt, but that didn’t seem to matter. He just wanted to do it again. 

His tongue went slower, this time, and paused at Draco’s hole to lap at the scab and the dried blood for a moment. The thought should have disgusted him, but the spell did away with leftover injury mess as soon as his mouth touched it. Draco squirmed even harder beneath him, his hips canting into the bed with every lick. Harry lingered around the hole, hunting down and healing every hint of an injury that he could find for as long as Draco could hold still. 

When he’d healed that, he let himself work lower to Draco’s perineum and the underside of his balls. Draco’s body stuttered so hard over the touch that Harry thought he might have broken the blond, but then he was working his way back up and Draco was pushing himself back against Harry’s mouth between every thrust against the bed.

Harry wasn’t sure what made him do it, honestly. He’d never had sex but he knew enough about it, in his opinion, and he barely even hesitated before he’d plunged his tongue deep into Draco’s hole. The blond  _ shrieked. _ Before Harry had even begun the spell, Draco was pushing back and practically riding his tongue as he ground his hips into the mattress. Harry wiggled his tongue, earning a moan that was so thick with emotion it made him shiver. He prodded at the hole and dove in with no warning, devouring Draco’s ass with the same fervor he’d had for the blond’s mouth just minutes ago. 

Draco was close, and Harry could see that very clearly. The blond was scarcely breathing and every motion of Harry’s tongue made his body convulse on the bed. He wanted to draw this out for hours—to watch Draco squirm and memorize the messy, debauched look that he’d adopted somewhere between his back and his ass—but he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to hold him there like that and, besides, Harry still had more of his body to heal. 

He grabbed at Draco’s hips to keep him relatively still and drove his tongue back into that tight, pink hole as he focused all of his energy on that spell. Harry prayed that it would have the same effect it had had before, and he was not disappointed. Draco arched into the bed so hard that Harry thought his spine might snap right then and there. He was almost completely silent as he came, panting and convulsing like Harry had cursed him somehow, but Harry still watched—completely transfixed. The sight of Draco falling apart was  _ heavenly _ . He wished halfheartedly for a camera or a photographic memory, but he knew he would never forget this. He couldn’t. 

“ _ Merlin Harry… _ ” Harry had been sort of disappointed that Draco hadn’t screamed his name in climax, but he took that feeling back the second he heard the blond speak. This was so much better. Now, Draco’s voice was soft and almost reverent. He said his name like Harry was some kind of god, or like he couldn’t believe that had just happened. But, more than any of that, Harry felt himself swallowing back tears because he realized that, for the first time in their lives, Draco had begun to call him by his given name. 

“Feel better?” Harry had meant the wounds, but Draco laughed at the question. It was funny, now that he thought about it. Neither of them answered or changed the question, though, because neither of them really felt the need to. Instead, Harry shifted them. He grabbed his wand off the nightstand and vanished the mess on the comforter before throwing back the blankets and dragging Draco under them with him. The blond sighed at the warmth, but Harry still couldn’t help pulling Draco’s body halfway over his own and wrapping an arm around that thin waist. Draco shivered, and Harry took one of his hands in his own. Gently, he pressed his lips to the first knuckle and healed the scab there, moving down each knuckle before switching to the other hand. Every time, Draco shuddered like it was a tiny aftershock of his orgasm. 

It took thirty seconds for the illusion to shatter. Draco’s leg shifted and caught the bulge of his erection through his pants. The second he let Draco’s hand go, he was reaching for his belt and Harry had to take his hand again to stop him. 

“No.” He tried not to sound harsh or angry—because he wasn’t—but Draco still flinched slightly at the word. Slowly, carefully, Harry guided the blond’s hand up to his chest and placed it over his heart instead. He tried to think of something disgusting. Draco would try again, he knew, but that was enough for the moment. 

“You’re tired, rest.” The blond shook his head and reached again, but this time Harry was ready and he caught his wrist before it had even left his chest. Draco stared at him. 

“I’m tired too, Draco. Spells take more energy without a wand.” That seemed to convince him, at least. Draco gave him one last scrutinizing look before settling back down with his head on his shoulder. Before long, Harry felt his breathing slow with sleep. Harry was not tired—spells did take more energy without a wand, but he was overwhelmed with the adrenaline of what had just happened and his mind was racing too fast to even consider sleep. He was perfectly content to lay there like that, though, and just hold the blond.

He’d never seen the blond fall asleep with anyone before. Granted, he wasn’t up to date on the latest prostitute rules and regulations but he was fairly certain that falling asleep with the client was not a norm. He couldn’t remember ever seeing the blond asleep at Hogwarts, actually. Though he hadn’t been in the Slytherin’s dorm, obviously, it wasn’t uncommon for friends or couples to fall asleep around the castle or in the grass when it was warm outside. He’d never seen Draco let down his guard like that—not even with Blaise or Pansy. 

Harry couldn’t help feeling a bit special. His fingers ran absentmindedly through Draco’s hair and his other hand smoothed between the blond’s shoulder blades, but he still smiled. Even if there was a layer of cloth between them, still, the contact of their bare chest and the knowledge of what had just happened was more than enough. Draco had let down his glamour, and had let Harry heal him. And, now, he was fast asleep in Harry’s bed, curling into the Gryffindor’s side and breathing deeply as if they’d never been enemies. Harry risked a glance down at Draco’s face. It was so relaxed and so calm… Merlin, Draco had never looked more beautiful. 


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had faced a lot of things in his life, and he’d faced his worst nightmares at least a hundred times over the course of his schooling. He couldn’t, realistically, say that waking up to an empty bed was his greatest fear… But it was pretty damn close. Somehow, the idea of waking up to nothing but the remnants of last night was worse than the idea of not waking up at all. 

When he opened his eyes, though, he breathed a sigh of relief. Draco was still asleep beneath the blankets, keeping mostly to his side of the bed but curling ever so slightly into Harry’s shoulder. It was adorable. Harry couldn’t resist—his fingers reached out without his direction, smoothing against the blond’s temple. He traced that pale jaw and let his thumb hover over those gorgeous, still swollen lips. 

Draco’s eyes snapped open, instantly alert, but he didn’t move away or flinch so Harry didn’t either. Those silver rings were bright and completely awake, leaving Harry to only guess at what he normally woke up to, but Draco stayed where he was beneath Harry’s hand. Alert, but calm. 

“Hey.” Draco blinked, but Harry was far too focused on those beautiful lips. He wanted to kiss them. Merlin, he wanted to kiss Draco until the blond was a mess under his hands and he wanted to keep him in that bed for days. But he knew better, so he just blinked back.

“How are you feeling?” Again, Draco just looked at him. “Draco?” Finally, he shifted. 

“Don’t talk to me like that.” The anger in his voice churned Harry’s stomach churn, and he was honestly a little scared of the man in his bed for a split second. He’d never considered Draco particularly unpredictable, and the fact that this had come out of nowhere sparked his anxiety like nothing else. 

“Like… what?” he finally managed, wincing at how unsteady his voice sounded. 

“Like you care about me.”

Oh.

Harry tried not to feel slighted but that sentence hit him like a punch to the stomach. He’d worked so hard to earn the blond’s trust the night before and he’d just assumed it would last, but clearly he’d been wrong. 

“What if I do?” Silver eyes settled on him like two sword points resting against his jugular. It was a threat, and Harry was scared to breathe let alone move, but there was no way in hell he was going to back down now.

“You don’t.” 

“That isn’t for you to decide.” His voice wasn’t any steadier than before, but there was a little more force behind the words. Draco’s face had gone stiff and rigid, comparable to a statue carved from white marble if the title of the piece was:  _ poorly hidden rage _ . Years of therapy had taught him many things—all of which were likely to piss the blond off. 

The silence was suffocating. He could feel Draco’s anger, but he also knew that he was right. They were both stubborn to a fault, but he’d backed the blond into a corner and they both knew it. It was a stalemate. 

“Do you want some breakfast?”


End file.
